A Response to “Book-Banning”

Every time this issue comes up, I want to respond.

I’ve always talked myself out of doing so, on the grounds that it is bound to offend one side or the other (or more likely both), but I’ve decided that if you want to be offended, there’s not much I can do about it. I believe my view on this issue is based on sound logic and reason, and although I have no doubt at all that I will anger people on both sides of the issue, I do think that those who take the time to be sure they know what I’m saying, as opposed to what they want to believe I said, will fail to find offense.

The issue is so-called “book-banning,” although actually banning anything is seldom on the agenda. Yes, people have said that certain books should be banned, as in not available to anyone, ever, but usually, the argument is whether a particular book should be in the “Young Adult” section of a library, or whether it should be in certain schools at certain grade levels, and these things are far from book banning. For the record, I am opposed to actual book-banning. Firmly opposed, in fact, but then, I’m also opposed to any “selection” of a jury that goes beyond walking out on the street and pointing. “You, you, you, and you. Come here.” I’m opposed to hiding evidence by excluding the jury during certain arguments. I’m opposed to the notion that certain people or subjects are off-limits when it comes to humor, or that there are subjects that should never be discussed, anywhere, anytime. And you shall know the truth, and the truth will set you free. But only if you have access to all information, whether truth or lie, fact or fiction, opinion or natural law. Only if you can discuss it, read it, find it, believe it, dispute it. When information of any kind is banned, humanity loses.

But the issue of what constitutes proper access to information on sex, violence, language, religion, and other hot topics of society, especially for young people, is another matter entirely, and I think the use of the term “book-banning” in this context is unfair.

I will begin with a question.

Question One: What is a “young adult”?

The most common age range given seems to be twelve to eighteen, which is simply ridiculous. There is no way at all that the average twelve-year-old can be considered a young adult. Twelve is a child, not an adult of any description. There is more in common between twelve and six than between twelve and eighteen, while on the other end, there is more difference between twenty and twenty-two than between eighteen and twenty. In short, I would submit that in order to be a valid distinction at all, “young adult” should be fifteen through nineteen, but in any case, regardless of how you define the range, its very existence requires a second question.

Question Two: Why do we call it “Young Adult” if it’s not supposed to be different?

Why not just say “Ok, you’re X years old. POOF! You’re an adult! Here, read The Fountainhead. Here’s the Kama Sutra, I’m sure you’ll enjoy that.” Well, believe it or not, back in prehistoric times, they did just that. I distinctly recall the physical thrill that went through me as I entered the holy sanctum of the adult section for the first time, at age thirteen, newly minted library card in hand. (History lesson: the library card was cardboard, with a little metal insert that had raised numbers like a credit card. My “kid” card was pink. The new one was yellow. The librarian stuck it in a machine and then stuck the date cards for each book you were checking out in with it, one at a time. There was this totally awesome kaCHUNK! and presto! the book was yours for two weeks! Awesomesauce in a bottle! Well, on a piece of cardboard. Hey, this was long, long ago. My brontosaur waited patiently outside to carry me home.) Had I tried to check out the Kama Sutra, though, I would have had problems. Problem number one: it was in the “Closed stacks,” along with such esoterica as Playboys and nude-art books. Problem number two: had I requested it, the librarian would have called my mother and asked if I could check it out. I might, and I stress might have survived my arrival at home. The point is, society was protecting me from what it thought were poor influences on the development of a thirteen-year-old boy, and that’s the whole point, right there.

That’s why we call it “Young Adult.” Because we all, acting as a society, can agree that there are things that might not be best read at thirteen. Or twelve, or fifteen. We can disagree on what those ages are, and we can disagree on what those things are, but if you think there should be no distinction made at all, then the only valid position for you to argue is that there should be no young adult section at all, and all books should simply be accessible by anyone of any age. If that’s your viewpoint, then you can’t very well complain that people want books moved into the adult section. Your complaint then should be that everyone should be seen as an adult.

Classifying is not banning.

Whenever the issue comes up of moving certain books from the young adult section to the adult section, someone is sure to start shouting about “banning books.” But Lady Chatterley’s Lover isn’t in the young adult section. Lolita isn’t. There is no serious argument that all books are suitable for young readers, only whether a particular book is or is not. Regardless of which side you are on for any given book, you can only call this “banning” if you say that Lady Chatterley’s Lover and Lolita are banned. Classifying is not banning.

Labeling is not banning.

Whenever someone says certain books should be given labels similar to those on movies or video games, the cry goes out. “Book-banner! Book-banner!” Librarians the world over sniff collectively. “We don’t believe in labeling,” they say haughtily. Well, in the words of Colonel Potter, “Horse hockey!” That book over there says “Fiction,” clearly emblazoned on the spine. That one says “Biography.” Look, over here, the dreaded “626.733”! How dare you label that book with such a number! It is ludicrous for a library to say it doesn’t label books. Not only is the title a label, but the libraries themselves affix many more labels to every book in their collection. Labeling is not banning.

Every choice being made about the young adult books in a particular library or at a particular school should be solely the responsibility of the parents affected by the choice.

If the parents, acting as a group, make a majority choice that This Really Nasty Novel should be in the adult section, then who is the author to complain? Disagree, sure. Think they’re crazy, yes, stupid even, uneducated cotton-swaddlers, unfit to be parents, but disagree? No, not unless he/she/it has children in the affected school or who use the affected library. If you want your twelve-year-old girl to read the Kama Sutra, and it’s in the adult section, you can check it out and give it to her, but if Mrs Smith down the street doesn’t want her daughter to read it, and it’s in the young adult section, then she is denied her right as a parent. The same right, in fact, that those opposed to so-called “banning” claim: the right to determine what is right or wrong for their children to read.

This is, in fact, exactly why I resist the attempt to define my writing as “young adult.”

If I ever hear that any group of parents is trying to remove my book from the young adult section of their library, or from the library of their middle school, I’ll be on their side. I’ll think they’re crazy, but I’ll be on their side. It’s their library. It’s their school. If you want your children to read it, let me know, and I’ll see to it you get a copy.

End of rant: the best way to keep the right to choose what your children read is to keep all the options available.

If you want your children to read what’s in the adult section, you can check it out, while those who do not want their children to read it can fail to do so. The reverse is not true. The people who get so angry about the “banning” (meaning classification, which is a library’s job, or labeling, which is also a library’s job) are actually trying to claim the right to choose what everybody else’s children read. And that’s not choice at all, that’s coercion.

Boy, am I going to lose Twitter followers on this one!